Simply put, our inspector is laid up in hospital with a broken leg, he's bored out of his skull, and he ends up looking into the deaths of the Princes in the Tower and pondering whether the murderer was Richard III, as popularly supposed, or someone else.
It sounds simple. But what makes this novel compelling is the how. This is an investigation where we're really shown the working. All of the primary evidence, all the facts, are lain before us an analysed, and a modern (well, 1951) police approach is taken. The reasoning, and the conclusions, feel pretty damn rigorous, although other views of the case are available.
I suppose, like the Jack the Ripper TV series from the '70s I recently blogged where the conceit was two fictional detectives investigating the murders in a documentary in the form of a drama, this may be seen as factual history dressed up as fiction. Yet the prose, the plotting, the characterisation, all are superb.
This novel is a veritable Class A substance.
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